Six Months Contract With The Mafia God

”I know exactly what they want,” Dante said, flexing his toes experimentally, watching them move for the first time in weeks with something close to wonder. ”They want what I want. That makes them useful, regardless of who they really are underneath it.”

”And if the price turns out to be more than just Dimitri’s death?” Luca pressed. ”These people burn down entire research facilities and lose forty-seven people without blinking. That’s not the kind of organization that stops asking for things once you owe them.”

Dante looked up at his second-in-command, at the genuine worry etched into his face.

”I’ve spent my entire life owing someone something,” Dante said quietly. ”My father. The families before us. The business itself. This isn’t different, Luca. It’s just a debt I actually want to pay.”

Luca didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue further either. He simply helped Dante back into the wheelchair, more careful than usual, as if some part of him already understood that the man he was pushing through these halls wasn’t going to need this chair much longer, and wasn’t entirely sure that was good news.

***

Three days later, Dante stood.

Not for long, barely thirty seconds, both hands braced against the parallel bars Dr. Fabrizio’s therapy team had installed in the east wing, his legs trembling with effort and unfamiliar sensation. But he stood, unassisted, for the first time since the warehouse in Jersey City.

Dr. Fabrizio, who had no idea about the midnight visitor or the compound now working through Dante’s nervous system, simply stared at the readings on his equipment in open confusion.

”This is... unusual,” Fabrizio said slowly, reviewing the nerve conduction results. ”Your recovery rate is exceeding anything I’ve documented in thirty years of practice. I don’t have an explanation for this.”

”Maybe I just heal fast,” Dante said, lowering himself back into the wheelchair, exhaustion and satisfaction warring in his expression.

Fabrizio studied him for a long moment, clearly unsatisfied with that answer but unwilling to push further given who he was working for.

”Whatever the cause,” Fabrizio finally said, ”continue the therapy schedule exactly as prescribed. I want to see you walking unassisted within two weeks, if this pace holds.”

Two weeks.

Dante thought about Dimitri, walking free in New York, believing the threat against him had been neutralized. Believing Dante was broken, crippled, no longer a concern.

Two weeks felt like nothing at all.

That evening, Dante sat alone in his study again, his private phone in hand, waiting.

It rang at exactly midnight.

”You’re healing faster than expected,” the voice said without preamble.

”You’ve been watching,” Dante said.

”We’re always watching, Mr. Romano. That’s rather the point.” A pause. ”Are you ready to discuss what comes next?”

Dante looked down at his legs, legs that could bear weight now, that tingled with returning sensation, that would carry him back into a war he had no intention of losing this time.

”Tell me everything you know about him,” Dante said. ”Every weakness. Every pattern. Every person close to him who might be turned. I want it all.”

”That’s what I like to hear,” the voice said, something satisfied threading through the words. ”I’ll have the first intelligence package delivered within forty-eight hours. Consider this the beginning of a very productive partnership, Mr. Romano.”

The line went dead, and Dante sat in the darkness of his study, flexing his fingers against the armrest of his wheelchair, already feeling less like a man confined to it and more like a man simply waiting for permission to stand.

***

POV: EVE

The dream was warm and soft and perfect.

In it, Eve was floating somewhere between sleep and consciousness, wrapped in comfort, safe in a way she hadn’t been safe in weeks. She could feel hands on her, gentle hands, familiar hands, and her body responded before her mind caught up to what was happening.

Then her eyes fluttered open, and she realized it wasn’t a dream.

Dimitri’s head was between her legs.

Eve gasped, her hands instinctively moving to his hair, her body already arching upward in response to his mouth working against her. The morning light was just starting to filter through the penthouse windows, that grey-blue light that came before the sun fully rose.... and she could see the broad line of his shoulders, the possessive way his hands gripped her thighs, the absolute focus on his face as he tasted her.

”Dimitri....” she started, but the word dissolved into a moan as he increased the pressure, his tongue finding the exact spot that made her vision white out.

He didn’t look up. Just continued, slow and deliberate, waking her body the way some men might wake a woman with coffee or a kiss. This was Dimitri’s version of good morning. 𝘧𝓇ℯℴ𝓂

Eve’s fingers tightened in his hair, her thighs trembling on either side of his face. She tried to say something...his name, maybe, or some plea for mercy or continuation, she wasn’t sure which....but speech had become impossible.

He was taking his time with her. No rush. No urgency. Just his mouth and his hands and the complete focus of a man whose entire world had narrowed down to her pleasure.

Eve came with a gasp that turned into a moan, her entire body tensing as the orgasm rolled through her. Dimitri worked her through it, prolonging it, extending her pleasure until she was gasping his name and pushing at his shoulders because the sensation was becoming too much.

Only then did he lift his head, his expression completely satisfied as he looked up at her.

”Good morning, piccola,” he said, his voice rough.

”That’s one way to wake someone up,” Eve said breathlessly, her heart still racing, her body still humming with the aftermath of pleasure.

Dimitri moved up her body, his mouth finding hers in a kiss that tasted like her, like morning, like him. She could feel his arousal against her thigh...hard and ready and completely undeniable.

”I’ve been awake for an hour,” he said against her mouth, ”watching you sleep. Wanting to do exactly that.”

”Well, mission accomplished,” Eve said, but she was already spreading her legs, already tilting her hips to receive him. After everything they’d been through, she understood now that this...his need for her, his obsession with her, his absolute possession, wasn’t something to resist. It was something to surrender to.

Dimitri entered her slowly, deliberately, and Eve felt her breath catch at the sensation of him filling her completely. Morning sex had a different quality than the urgent, intense encounters they usually shared. This was intimate in a way that had nothing to do with violence or passion and everything to do with connection.

He moved with slow, deep strokes, his forehead pressed against hers, his hands framing her face like she was something precious. Eve met each movement, her hips rising to take him deeper, her hands gripping his shoulders.